 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
347
A VOICE FROM GLEN-MARY.
Sweet Lady! when the glen I sought
That bears, and long will bear thy name,
Of thy sad history I thought,
Forgetful of a brighter fame;
The wild-bird singing in the tree,
Each rustling leaflet spoke of thee.
That bears, and long will bear thy name,
Of thy sad history I thought,
Forgetful of a brighter fame;
The wild-bird singing in the tree,
Each rustling leaflet spoke of thee.
Thy cottage-home hath lost the light
That gladdened it in other hours;
Its vines are withered, and a blight
Hath fallen on thy once-loved flowers;
I crossed its threshold, and within
There was a gloom to-night akin.
That gladdened it in other hours;
Its vines are withered, and a blight
Hath fallen on thy once-loved flowers;
I crossed its threshold, and within
There was a gloom to-night akin.
Cold was the hearth, and on the wall
Gray web-work had the spider hung,
And solemn as a knell, the fall
Of feet through each apartment rung:
The south-wind sighed through open doors,
Lifting the dust from unswept floors.
Gray web-work had the spider hung,
And solemn as a knell, the fall
Of feet through each apartment rung:
The south-wind sighed through open doors,
Lifting the dust from unswept floors.
The features of yon view remain;
The waves flow on, the mountains rise;
Dawn wakes, and twilight brings again
Her gentle dews, and star-lit skies;
But here no more will voice of thine
Fill air with song at day's decline!
The waves flow on, the mountains rise;
Dawn wakes, and twilight brings again
Her gentle dews, and star-lit skies;
But here no more will voice of thine
Fill air with song at day's decline!
Ah! nigh in soul perchance thou art,
Though far away thy grave is green,
For clung the tendrils of thy heart,
While living, to this lovely scene:
And slumbers here thy first-born child,
Within a tomb undrest and wild.
Though far away thy grave is green,
348
While living, to this lovely scene:
And slumbers here thy first-born child,
Within a tomb undrest and wild.
'T is not unmeet that shade of one,
So young and fair, through lawns like these
Should wander, when the day is done,
And burden with its plaint the breeze;
Or visit at lone midnight's hour
Glen-Mary's cot and wasted bower.
So young and fair, through lawns like these
Should wander, when the day is done,
And burden with its plaint the breeze;
Or visit at lone midnight's hour
Glen-Mary's cot and wasted bower.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |